


inconcievable

by Ladoga



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angband, Begging, Elements of Horror, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 16:48:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15123704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladoga/pseuds/Ladoga
Summary: "“Please.” (By whatever twisted irony, his presence, now, is the only light here.) “Please don’t leave me here alone.”"





	inconcievable

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt off a promptlist. [Prompt list.](http://rp-memes-atyourservice.tumblr.com/post/165384509393/send-one-of-the-following-for-your-muse-to) Prompt:
>
>> epphfervescent said, maybe ☀maedhros and sauron?
> 
> (☀ - ask my muse to stay the night)
> 
> (Could be said to not be exactly following the prompt. But.)

“Please.” You can feel your voice shake on the word.

Years ago, back in Valinor, when you were not a child yourself anymore but only barely, you had seen two neighbor children playing in a courtyard. _“I will give the Dark Hunter nothing, no matter what he may do to me!”_ _“I too will yield him nothing!”_ Had seen your grandfather across the courtyard, watching as well. Seen something in his expression different than usually what he might show at children; had not known, then, how to read it, what it was. 

You think you know now. It is easy, in the light, hearing stories among friends, to say you will yield nothing. It is easy to say ‘no matter what’ when ‘what’ is some vague forbidding word in a tale. But it is months that you have been here now, alone or with company worse than loneliness, pain and terror near constant companions in the dark. There is a universe, you know now, of things you never heard words spoken for. Do not think you want to hear words spoken for.

And - once before already you had been left here in this chamber, somewhere in the deep pits of Angband, for a night or for time you could not count. Had lain, in darkness beyond even Elven eyes, hearing the sounds of what beings you did not know. Whispers across your skin, claws not of matter like they might sink or eat into your fëa, some dreadful horror that could not be chased away by thought or song. 

‘No matter what he may do to me’, you might have said yourself once. ‘I will bear anything’. But like the peace of Aman shattered by death and darkness and then by your own sword, like your word to your sundered love that the boats would return, it is a lie. You cannot bear it. You can’t.

“Please.” The chains restrict your movements, but you can kneel and you do, fix your eyes on the bright Maia who brought you here, because it is him you entreat but also because you do not wish to look elsewhere in this place. (By whatever twisted irony, his presence, now, is the only light here.) “Please don’t leave me here alone.”

Turned away before, he sweeps around to look at you again. “Why Maitimo, darling, are you asking me to spend the night?”

That is not, of course, what you were asking, but it is a chance, maybe, and you cannot hope you will get yet another. You seize it. Within the space the chains give you you crawl across the floor and towards him, bend to kiss the hem of his robes, press your lips to them, desperately. (Thauron has kept you overnight before. It is a horror itself, his very presence like a corrupted warping of the world. And his touch -. But between that and this place, you will take it, take it a dozen times. Will beg for it.)

“Yes. Please, Lord Mairon. Grace me with your presence; I supplicate at your feet for the privilege of a night in your chambers.” You kiss his robes again, hide your face in them because you cannot bear to look up at him, can hardly breathe for the terror - that he will refuse, that he will leave -  _ leave you here _ -. You flinch when you feel a hand in your hair, but it is only his, and he only strokes you lightly. (‘Only’ - that is what you have come to now…)

“Oh my dearest, I’m simply flattered. I must say, I didn’t hardly expect it. What is it they say, a change of circumstance may be a benefit to reflection?” He strokes your hair again and you are frozen, your thoughts are - he  _ hasn’t said yes _ -.

“Please…” It’s the only word you can manage, again. 

“But why of course. Since you ask so very nicely.” There is a hand on you, and power winding around you, power that you would cringe and hide away from, that you despise. But now you are desperate for it.

_ A change of circumstances _ . You imagine your grandfather’s face if he looked at you now. (But perhaps, perhaps he knew…). The power twists and shifts. The room - if it is a room - disappears as it drags you with it.

You do not know if it is relief or horror you are choking on.


End file.
